"The chances of anything coming from Mars are a million
to one", he said

At midnight, on the 12th of August, a huge mass of luminous gas erupted from Mars and sped towards Earth. Across two
hundred million miles of void, invisibly hurtling towards us, came the first of the missiles that were to bring so much calamity
to Earth. As I watched, there was another jet of gas. It was another missile, starting on its way.And that's how it was
for the next ten nights. A flare, spurting out from Mars. Bright green, drawing a green mist behind it; a beautiful, but somehow
disturbing sight. Ogilby, the astronomer, assured me we were in no danger. He was convinced there could be no living thing
on that remote, forbidding planet.

The Astronomer

ChorusThe chances of anything coming from MarsAre a million to one, he said
(ahh, ahh)The chances of anything coming from MarsAre a million to one, but still, they come...

Then
came the night the first missile approached Earth. It was thought to be an ordinary falling star, but next day there was a
huge crater in the middle of the common, and Ogilby came to examine what lay there. A cylinder, thirty yards across, glowing
hot, with faint sounds of movement coming from within. Suddenly the top began moving: rotating, unscrewing; and Ogilby feared
there was a man inside trying to escape. He rushed to the cylinder but the intense heat stopped him before he could burn himself
on the metal.

ChorusThe chances of anything coming from MarsAre a million to one, he said
(ahh, ahh)The chances of anything coming from MarsAre a million to one, but still, they come...Yes, the chances
of anything coming from MarsAre a million to one, he said (ahh, ahh)The chances of anything coming from MarsAre
a million to one, but still, they come...

From The Book

The Falling Star

Then came the night of the first falling star. It was seen early in the morning, rushing over Winchester eastward,
a line of flame high in the atmosphere. Hundreds must have seen it, and taken it for an ordinary falling star. Albin described
it as leaving a greenish streak behind it that glowed for some seconds. Denning, our greatest authority on meteorites, stated
that the height of its first appearance was about ninety or one hundred miles. It seemed to him that it fell to earth about
one hundred miles east of him. I was at home at that hour and writing in my study; and although my French windows face towards
Ottershaw and the blind was up (for I loved in those days to look up at the night sky), I saw nothing of it. Yet this strangest
of all things that ever came to earth from outer space must have fallen while I was sitting there, visible to me had I only
looked up as it passed. Some of those who saw its flight say it travelled with a hissing sound. I myself heard nothing of
that. Many people in Berkshire, Surrey, and Middlesex must have seen the fall of it, and, at most, have thought that another
meteorite had descended. No one seems to have troubled to look for the fallen mass that night. But very early in the morning
poor Ogilvy, who had seen the shooting star and who was persuaded that a meteorite lay somewhere on the common between Horsell,
Ottershaw, and Woking, rose early with the idea of finding it. Find it he did, soon after dawn, and not far from the sand
pits. An enormous hole had been made by the impact of the projectile, and the sand and gravel had been flung violently in
every direction over the heath, forming heaps visible a mile and a half away. The heather was on fire eastward, and a thin
blue smoke rose against the dawn. The Thing itself lay almost entirely buried in sand, amidst the scattered splinters of a
fir tree it had shivered to fragments in its descent. The uncovered part had the appearance of a huge cylinder, caked over
and its outline softened by a thick scaly dun-coloured incrustation. It had a diameter of about thirty yards. He approached
the mass, surprised at the size and more so at the shape, since most meteorites are rounded more or less completely. It was,
however, still so hot from its flight through the air as to forbid his near approach. A stirring noise within its cylinder
he ascribed to the unequal cooling of its surface; for at that time it had not occurred to him that it might be hollow. He
remained standing at the edge of the pit that the Thing had made for itself, staring at its strange appearance, astonished
chiefly at its unusual shape and colour, and dimly perceiving even then some evidence of design in its arrival. The early
morning was wonderfully still, and the sun, just clearing the pine trees towards Weybridge, was already warm. He did not remember
hearing any birds that morning, there was certainly no breeze stirring, and the only sounds were the faint movements from
within the cindery cylinder. He was all alone on the common. Then suddenly he noticed with a start that some of the grey clinker,
the ashy incrustation that covered the meteorite, was falling off the circular edge of the end. It was dropping off in flakes
and raining down upon the sand. A large piece suddenly came off and fell with a sharp noise that brought his heart into his
mouth. For a minute he scarcely realised what this meant, and, although the heat was excessive, he clambered down
into the pit close to the bulk to see the Thing more clearly. He fancied even then that the cooling of the body might account
for this, but what disturbed that idea was the fact that the ash was failing only from the end of the cylinder, and then he
perceived that, very slowly, the circular top of the cylinder was rotating on its body. It was such a gradual movement that
he discovered it only through noticing that a black mark that had been near him five minutes ago was now at the other side
of the circumference. Even then he scarcely understood what this indicated, until he heard a muffled grating sound and saw
the black mark jerk forward an inch or so. Then the thing came upon him in a flash. The cylinder was artificial -- hollow
-- with an end that screwed out! Something within the cylinder was unscrewing the top!

"Good heavens!" said Ogilvy. "There's a man in it -- men in it! Half roasted to death! Trying
to escape!" At once, with a quick mental leap, he linked the Thing with the flash upon Mars. The thought of the confined creature
was so dreadful to him that he forgot the heat, and went forward to the cylinder to help turn. But luckily the dull radiation
arrested him before he could burn his hands on the still glowing metal. At that he stood irresolute for a moment, then turned,
scrambled out of the pit, and set off running wildly into Woking. The time then must have been somewhere about six o'clock.
He met a waggoner and tried to make him understand, but the tale he told and his appearance were so wild -- his hat had fallen
off in the pit -- that the man simply drove on. He was equally unsuccessful with the pot man who was just unlocking the doors
of the public-house by Horsell Bridge. The fellow thought he was a lunatic at large and made an unsuccessful attempt to shut
him into the taproom. That sobered him a little; and when he saw Henderson, the London journalist, in his garden, he called
over the palings and made himself understood. "Henderson," he called, "you saw that shooting star last night?" "Well?" said
Henderson "It's out on Horsell Common now." "Good Lord!" said Henderson. "Fallen meteorite! That's good." "But
it's something more than a meteorite. It's a cylinder -- an artificial cylinder, man! And there's something inside." Henderson
stood up with his spade in his hand. "What's that?" he said. He was deaf in one ear. Ogilvy told him
all that he had seen. Henderson was a minute or so taking it in. Then he dropped his spade, snatched up his jacket, and came
out into the road. The two men hurried back at once to the common, and found the cylinder still lying in the same position.
But now the sounds inside had ceased, and a thin circle of bright metal showed between the top and the body of the cylinder.
Air was either entering or escaping at the rim with a thin, sizzling sound. They listened, rapped on the scaly
burnt metal with a stick, and, meeting with no response, they both concluded the man or men inside must be insensible or dead.
Of course the two were quite unable to do anything. They shouted consolation and promises, and went off back to the town again
to get help. One can imagine them, covered with sand, excited and disordered, running up the little street in the bright sunlight
just as the shop folks were taking down their shutters and people were opening their bedroom windows. Henderson went into
the railway station at once, in order to telegraph the news to London. The newspaper articles had prepared men's minds for
the reception of the idea. By eight o'clock a number of boys and unemployed men had already started for the common to see
the "dead men from Mars." That was the form the story took. I heard of it first from my newspaper boy about a quarter to nine
when I went out to get my Daily Chronicle. I was naturally startled, and lost no time in going out and across the Ottershaw
bridge to the sand pits.